Part 13 (1/2)

”I am not,” she protested weakly. ”I'm fine. I'm just a little tired-that's all. Just let me lie here and close my eyes for a minute.”

Her face was flushed and s.h.i.+ning with perspiration. She was miles past ”a little tired.” Gently shaking her shoulder, he forced Claire to look at him. Evan raised four fingers. ”How many fingers am I holding up?”

She squinted, trying to make them out through watery eyes.

”Three,” she answered. ”And I wish you'd stop wiggling them at me.”

He dropped his hand, frowning. This time, her stubbornness wasn't going to help her. If nothing else, he was stronger than she was. ”That does it, you're going to bed.”

Making a last-ditch attempt at dignity and strength, Claire grabbed on to the arm of the sofa, using it for leverage. She meant to vehemently protest his declaration.

Or tried to. But even her resolve dissolved in the heat of the fever that was spinning its web through her body.

”I am not.” She drew herself up to her feet.

Her words would have carried more weight if her legs could have. But they buckled, both of them, and she pitched face forward into his arms, struggling against the darkness that threatened to consume her.

”Mama!” Libby screamed, alarmed.

”She's all right,” Evan rea.s.sured the little girl in as calm a voice as he could muster. ”She just needs some rest.” Still holding her, he drew her closer to him. ”Don't you, Claire?”

”Rest,” she repeated as if it were the beginning of a healing mantra. And then she remembered what she had done when he had pa.s.sed out. She gritted her teeth, fighting to stay conscious. ”Just don't...get any ideas...about dressing me for bed.”

He couldn't resist. ”Turnabout is fair play.” The alarm that momentarily flared in her eyes made him relent This wasn't the time to tease her, although he was surprised that he actually had that inclination. The last time he'd felt like teasing a girl, he had been in third grade.

”You're obviously a lot more lucid than I was in your place. I'll take out a pair of pajamas, and you can put them on yourself.” And then he smiled at her. ”Spoilsport.”

”Eat your heart out” she mumbled weakly.

”I am.”

With that, Evan scooped her up into his arms. She felt, he thought lighter than his briefcase usually did.

”No.” Her protest sounded incredibly feeble, even to her. ”You can't do that.”

”I just did,” he countered. Turning, Evan crossed to the stairs. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that Libby was right behind him like a faithful shadow. ”She's going to be fine, Libby.” He hoped his voice carried enough conviction to soothe the little girl's fears.

”You can't do this,” Claire repeated. ”You're sick, weak.”

”No, I'm not” Evan tried not to think how good she felt against him like this. ”You're a great nurse. I feel fine, really. Except, maybe a little guilty that I've repaid your kindness by infecting you.”

”Wasn't your fault,” she murmured against his throat, her breath sending ripples through him.

Evan's stomach tightened into a hard ball. It wasn't right, having these kinds of feelings about a woman too sick to know what she was doing to him.

”Is Mama gonna be all right?”

He could hear the tightness in Libby's throat, as if there were tears forming. ”She's going to be just fine, Libby,” he a.s.sured her again.

”Yes, she is.” Libby said the words loudly, as if to convince herself, as well. ”And I'm gonna take care of her.”

”We both will,” Evan said before he even stopped to think about it. He realized that he meant it.

Very gently, he laid her down on his bed. His concern grew. She looked as pale as the case on his pillow.

Claire arched, her back aching. She should be getting up, she thought. Her body remained where it was, unwilling and unable to obey any command she might have given it.

But she could still protest. ”You have work,” Claire mumbled in his general direction. Her eyes shut again. The light was beginning to hurt.

He shrugged, keeping his voice light more for Libby's benefit than Claire's. ”Like you said, I have a computer. And Donovan said not to come back until I was well. Maybe I'll have a relapse for a few days.”

With luck, she would be better by then. At least, he could hope so.

Claire sighed, not really hearing him. ”That's nice.”

She barely had enough strength to climb into the pajamas that Evan had laid out for her and then drag herself into his bed.

Logically, she knew she should have gone to her own. But her house and her bed seemed a million miles from here right now, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.

Or die, whichever came first.

It was sleep.

And when she woke up again, there were a hundred little men in steel-pointed shoes line-dancing through her head. It was all Claire could do to pry open her eyes.

The room was dark. Was it raining again? Or was it night? She couldn't tell.

What she did know was that she didn't have time for this. She had things to do, a child to care for. A presentation to deliver. At least she'd had the presence of mind to print it all out when she'd finished it last night.

But it did her little good, sitting on Evan's desk downstairs while she was lying up here, in his bed.

She had to get up.

Shaking, she reached out to snap on the light. She missed the lamp and knocked over something that was in her way. Whatever it was. .h.i.t the floor with a thud that registered with the hundred little men and sent them into another round of frenzied dancing across her skull and forehead.

Claire groaned and held her head as she sat up. She knew if she didn't hold it, it would fall off and roll away.

Light came in from the hallway, a.s.saulting her, slicing through the wounds in her head that the pointy shoes had left in their wake.

”Get back into bed,” Evan ordered.

Her hand wrapped around one post, she was still trying to get out. She had more of a chance of turning into a frog.

”But this is your bed.” He belonged in it, not her. What if he wanted to share it? She must be really sick, she realized, because the thought of him lying beside her didn't make her nervous. It would have made her smile if she felt able to. Which she didn't.

Was she afraid he was going to take advantage of the situation? Not that he hadn't thought of it, but he'd quickly dismissed it. Then he'd thought of it again with a longing that no longer surprised him.